Desirable Color
by Laura Schiller
Summary: An extension of a scene in chapter 23, "Under the Umbrella". A shopkeeper mistakes Jo and Friedrich for a couple. He's wrong, of course ... but only by a few minutes.


Desirable Color

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Little Women_

Copyright: Public Domain

/

"Your lady may prefer this," said the shopkeeper to Professor Bhaer. "A most desirable color, quite chaste and genteel."

Jo stared at her own reflection in the mirror, draped in a thick gray woolen shawl, undecided whether to laugh or cry. She didn't know which was more absurd to be mistaken for: the Professor's wife, or someone who would be flattered by being called _chaste and genteel_. She did not want to be lewd or vulgar, of course - never that – but had she really become the sort of woman whom shopkeepers looked at and immediately assumed that gray was her color?

She caught the Professor's eye in the mirror. He was smiling. It was a smile of appreciation at the picture she made, with her auburn hair sparkling from the rain outside and her flushed cheeks making a brilliant contrast to the plain shawl. But she mistook it for a smile of amusement and blushed harder than ever, whirling away from the mirror and pushing the shawl back into the shopkeeper's hands.

"Oh, I'm not his lady," she blurted out. "That is, he's not – we're not - "

"We are not married," said the Professor, carefully neutral.

"Sorry, miss," said the shopkeeper, with an apologetic bow in Jo's direction as he folded up the shawl. "My mistake."

"What think you, Miss March?" asked Professor Bhaer. "Would Madame Remy wear this?"

Madame Remy. Tina's mother. The laundress at Mrs. Kirke's boardinghouse, who was poor and overworked and could not adjust to the climate differences between New York and the Provence. Of course. That was who they were shopping for, after all. It was nothing personal – at least, not personal for Jo. He was simply being generous, as he always was to everyone he met.

She took another look at the shawl, trying to keep Remy in mind. It was thick and well made and would probably keep off the weather, but as for color, Jo honestly had no idea if it was suitable or not. She couldn't remember the woman as much more than a shadow in a dark dress and white apron, hurrying to pick up Tina from "Monsieur Berre's" study, murmuring apologies while he assured her that Tina was no trouble, but a joy to look after.

Well, perhaps the fact that Madame Remy was so difficult to remember spoke for itself. What would a woman wear if she didn't want to be noticed?

"Let's take it," said Jo. "It will suit her."

"You are correct, Miss March, as so often."

There was an awkward moment when they both scrambled to reach their wallets at the same time. The Professor was faster, even though he had to drop the packages they'd bought earlier – a dress for Tina, sweets for Daisy and Demi, and snacks for the farewell party coming up that evening - on the floor. The shopkeeper smiled at him across the counter as he wrapped up the shawl in brown paper. He was an older man, around sixty, with a round red face and twinkling eyes, and from the way he glanced back and forth between his two customers, Jo guessed that he had already learned a great deal about them. He was polite enough not to show it, however, and took the Professor's money with evident satisfaction. As well he might, thought Jo, when she realized how expensive the article was. No wonder the man had been talking it up.

They stepped out into the street in a shower of rain, and Jo laughed despite herself when Mr. Bhaer snapped open the old blue umbrella and splashed them both with water.

"Here, I'll take that," she said, rescuing the flowerpot and the bag of groceries before it could tumble into the mud.

"_Danke._" It was his turn to blush under his brown beard. "I am so _ungeschickt _today, what is the word - ?"

"Clumsy? But don't forget, you're talking to the girl who used to shuffle sideways around a ballroom because she'd burned the back of her best dress."

They grinned at each other, and she was grateful to the rain because it allowed her to move as close to him as she dared.

Still, she couldn't resist one more look into the shop window before moving off. She already had a shawl, a cream-colored one Marmee had knitted for her, and it was an old habit of hers never to replace an item of clothing until it was worn out. But there had been a whole shelf of them in every color of the rainbow, and some silly, impractical part of her couldn't help but wonder …

"Which color would you have picked for me, Professor?"

_Christopher Columbus! Did I just say that out loud?_

Mr. Bhaer studied her intensely, from her galoshes to her muddy skirt, all the way up to the silly, flowery bonnet she had put on with him in mind, now ruined by the weather. He was no fashion plate himself – his jacket was patched and his gloves had holes in them – but all she could think when their eyes met was: _Please don't say gray._

"I know not very much about fashion, Miss March, but it seems to me you are too _lebensfroh _… what is the word? … to wear gray."

"I think the closest translation would be 'lively'," she said, with a writer's secret delight in his German accent. "And, um, thank you. I try to be."

"Lively. Yes. So … that one?" He nodded at the wooden dressmaker's dummy in the window, which was displaying a dark brown dress with a paisley shawl draped over it. The pattern was made up of swirling reds, oranges and golds, so that it blazed like a fire against the reflection of the pale November sky.

_Lebensfroh. _Did he really see her as someone who took joy in life? She had been once, but since Beth had died, it sometimes felt as if all the joy in Jo's life had gone with her. It took hard work to bring it back these days, except when she was writing. Or when the Professor was nearby. It was an inexpressible comfort to know he could still see in her what she barely saw in herself.

"That one," she repeated. "Would be perfect."

"Shall I go back and buy it for you?" He looked so sincere that she had no doubt he would have done it, and her conscience protested at the thought of how much he'd already spent on gifts for the Marches.

"Absolutely not, thank you! I don't need it, and you really must save some of your money for your journey."

"Ah yes … my journey. Of course."

For someone who claimed to be grateful for his prospective teaching career in Chicago, he did not look at all pleased to be reminded of it. The brightness in his blue eyes had suddenly gone out.

Jo felt the same way. Her _Lebensfreude_ deserted her as quickly as it had come. One of the German phrases for missing someoneis _Du fehlst mir; _literally _You are missing from me. _That was what it would feel like when he left, like a part of her was absent. Three years was more than long enough to be forgotten, especially by someone who only thought of you as a friend.

Little did she know that her companion was thinking exactly the same thing.

An omnibus rattled up the street. She was not usually nearsighted, but since her eyes were blurred with impending tears, it was impossible to see the wrong number. She threw up her arm to signal it, dropping the flowerpot on the pavement. Seeing the daisies in the mud was too much for her.

It was Friedrich's last chance, and he took it, although it took every bit of courage he had.

"Heart's dearest, why do you cry?"

If she had brushed him off with a joke or a white lie, he would have broken off the attempt at once. But because she was Josephine March, she told the truth: "Because you are going away."

It was just the answer he had hoped for. His accent got away from him when he spoke next, but he didn't care, because in her overflowing eyes, he could read a language without words.

"_Ach, mein Gott, _that is _so _good! Jo, I have nothing but much love to give you. I came to see if you would care for it, and I waited to see if I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?"

"Oh, yes!"

She folded both hands over his arm and looked up at him, and he knew that he would never think of gray as a dull color again. It was the color of her eyes, and they were wild and deep as the ocean. Like the Atlantic the day he'd landed on Ellis Island. Like a new beginning.

Desirable indeed.


End file.
